


Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days of Summer

by Ms Pufferfish (thesunkid)



Category: Ed Edd n Eddy
Genre: M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunkid/pseuds/Ms%20Pufferfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infestation's begun.  It's a fight for survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days of Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [punkychuu](http://punkychuu.tumblr.com).

I

**18 Days Till**

Kevin knows right out of the gate that he’s fucked.  There’s nothing for him at home: no job, no _car_ , no nothing. Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  Twenty years old and he’s got the house, his savings and no prospects.  His smile is strained as his parents wave at him, zipping down the road to sea and sunshine.

“It’s our anniversary, baby.  You’d be so bored on the cruise.  Better you stay here and try to find something to do.”

“Maybe, Mel will have an opening while we’re gone.”

He and his father had smiled at each other, though all too obviously forced.  He was fucked and they both knew it.  Mel’s Garage hadn’t crawled out of the depression unscathed.  With half his suppliers gone, he could barely keep himself afloat.  This summer it’d just be Kevin, the TV, and a long standing open door invitation.  Maybe he could bum a ride out of Rolf into the city for a bit, find something to do there.

When the last bit of Chevy Silverado disappears into the horizon, Kevin slinks back into the house.  He sags forward into the freezer, sucking up all the cold he can stand before grabbing a coke from the fridge and throwing himself face first into the couch.  He sinks slowly like a fly in syrup.  With a quick toe jab, the TV buzzes to life.  He’s seriously fucked.

“—temperatures expected to reach mid to high-90s tomorrow afternoo—”

“—un-sized Snickers? Who’s this fun for? Not me. I need—”

“—ing pigeons navigate by following roads and other man-made features, making 90 degree turns and following habitual rout—”

“—nd protests have risen all over the country against Pez Globo’s new insecticide, designed to fight this year’s mosquito infestation.  Activists are enraged.  This new ‘wonder drug’ is going to cause havoc on our ecosystems.  It—”

“Doctors are baffled in Alabama.  Three mysterious cases of—”

“TE AMO MI AMOR, ¿Por qué no confías en mí? Yo sólo quiero—”

Kevin groans, trying desperately to smother himself with his pillow.  His legs kick out, knocking the remote to the floor.  Even TV’s deserted him.

 

**17 Days Till**

As luck would have it, Kevin’s not the only one stuck in Peach Creek for the summer; most of his schoolmates and all of the original nine have or will return at some point.  Nazz is one of the lucky ones—got an internship in San Diego at a clinic next month and is only back home for a little reprieve.  Her parents are ecstatic.  They’re planning a farewell party the week after they return from their business trip.

Rolf on the other hand, is like him.  Or at least he thought he was.

“You’re leaving?”

Rolf doesn’t even stop to look at them; he just keeps piling his clothes into his suitcase, “I have to.  Sooner or later they will come.”

“What are you talking about?  What’s coming?”

The zipper snags a little on three of Rolf’s shirts.  He moves to force it, but Nazz steps in and gently tucks them inside.  She brushes off his fingers and zips it closed.

“You’re worried about that new insecticide aren’t you?”

They lock eyes for a moment as Kevin groans, “You can’t be serious?!  That shit on TV?  It’s all hype.  Nothing’s going to happen.  People get sick all the time.”

“Never this fast.”  He picks up his suitcase and tosses it on his bed.  The room is almost empty now, only the mattress, bed frame, and dresser are left.  Through the window Kevin can see just how serious he is.  The farm is all but deserted.  Just a few chickens remain, scattered about the property squawking up a storm as if looking for their lost friends.  His goats are gone, sold to pay for a used truck, and most of the pigs are waiting in the trailer.

Nazz fiddles with a few stray mattress threads decidedly far away from this conversation.  So Kevin moves to stand behind his friend.  “Look, man,” he lays a gently hand on his shoulder, “give it a few days.  I know you’re scared.  But what if it’s just a freak incident—a onetime thing?  You just got here.  What about our trip into town?  We’ve been planning that for weeks.”

Rolf sighs.  It’s heavy and deflating, just enough to sag his shoulders and bow his back in defeat.  “Alright.”

 

They arrive back in the cul-de-sac at three in the morning.  It’s dark.  Their ring of houses sits grey and somber under the overcast sky.  Moonlight fights its way through, illuminating the cloud cover until Kevin can just barely make out their outlines in his haze.  Rolf sits next to him.  The car’s gone silent.  His keychain sways slowly, losing momentum with each swing.

“You really gonna leave?”

“I have to.”

A stray beam manages to break through.  It floats over the hood, reflecting back in their faces.  It’s cold and unfeeling, staring down at them from its high perch.  Kevin grinds his teeth.  It smarts, pushing into his head with icy fingers, asking why?  Why isn’t he being a better friend?

“When?”

“Saturday.  I have to make sure the sale goes through.”

Kevin snorts, hoping a little humor will ease the tension, “Poor Beatrice.  I’m gonna miss her.”

It works, for the most part.  Rolf spits out a laugh as the moon passes them by.  “Will you buy her then?”

 

**13 Days Till**

The entire cul-de-sac is up bright and early Saturday morning to wish Rolf goodbye.  Beatrice’s sale finally went through yesterday and Rolf’s got a wad of bills poking out of his pocket.  Eddy’s eying it like it’s a Christmas ham.  Gotta give Rolf his props, that old heifer managed to leave some extra cash behind after paying for his truck repairs.  He’s repainted it—daisy blue, not what he would have chosen, but it works.  It’ll be easy to spot once his business has been taken care of.  

Nazz’s got a hand to the hood, probably admiring the paint job.  She’s smiling, but Kevin can see it wobble.  He moves past the crowd and throws an arm round her shoulder.

“Cheer up,” he murmurs, “It’s not like he’s leaving forever.”

She turns that trembly little smile on him and it strengthens somewhat. There are sparkly little tears dotting the corner of her eyes.  He pulls her close and she lets him, burrowing her face away in his armpit.  She's silent for a moment before he feels the real twisting of a grin against him.

“You stink.”

Kevin laughs and shoves her face closer, “Been helping Rolf move the animals all day.  Never realized how finicky pigeons could be.”

She struggles for a bit, working her arms out of his grasp until one manages to latch onto this shoulder.  The grip tightens and then, _bam_ , Kevin is stumbling back, hunched forward to avoid Nazz’s evil fingers.

“Jeez-ez,” he gasps.

She grins, wiggling them menacingly, “So ticklish.  Gotta protect your weak spots more, Kev.”

Before he can right himself to retaliate, the rest of the group wanders over.  Jimmy is a little misty-eyed.  Sarah’s got one arm round his shoulders, the other rubbing soothing circles down his back.

“It’ll be alright Jimmy,” she says.

“I just wish Jonny were here.  It feels weird without him.”

Kevin understands.  Without everyone the cul-de-sac feels empty, like someone’s poked a hole in the sand bag.  It just keeps seeping out.  Every patch puts pressure in a different place and then _pop!_ You’ve got another hole.  With Jonny, Rolf, and Nazz punching their way through the sack, soon it's just going to be Kevin caught alone in the fibers.

The rev of Rolf’s truck echoes across the cul-de-sac—the final call.  He climbs into the front seat and rests his hands on the steering wheel.

“This is goodbye, my friends.  Good luck and Godspeed.”  He raises his hand in one last salute—answered only by Ed as the others smile and wave—nods, and drives off.

 

**7 Days Till**

The planes fly over in the night.  Kevin can’t sleep.  It’s hot and muggy and the low whine of their engines clouds him like mosquitoes.  It’s ironic really.

With a sluggish kick, the sheets slide to the floor and Kevin releases a breath.  There, that’s a little better.  One of them swoops down a little too close for comfort.  It hums thickly, probably spraying Rolf’s family fields.

A breeze picks up, rustling his curtains and carrying the scent of insecticide with it.  Kevin blanches.  It’s potent, almost as thick as the air itself.  He jumps up and slams the window shut then kicks the ceiling fan into overdrive.  He sees now why Rolf was so against it; it’d probably stink up his entire house.  Thank god it’s only twice a month, he thinks.  It takes a while but soon the stench dissipates and Kevin falls into a fitful sleep, the drone fading as they head east.

 

He wakes three hours later and the clock next to him blinks 5:35AM.  He closes his eyes again and wills sleep to come back.  It doesn’t and neither does it work the next three times he tries.  So he shrugs, slides out of bed, and drags himself into the kitchen to see if he can scrape up some coffee.

It’s eerily quiet.  The sun’s just about risen and the cul-de-sac still sleeps, the last of Rolf’s chickens having been packed up and shipped out days ago.  Kevin had loaded the rooster into the crate himself.  It’d sagged in his arms like it was relieved.  At the time he’d thought nothing of it—couldn’t be bothered.  The less likely it would pitch a fit, the better.  Now, Kevin understands.

He sinks into his coffee.  A loop.  A loop to be played over and over again, until you managed to muster up the courage to break out or someone else does it for you.  He’d saved the rooster.  But who would save him?

Dawn’s weak morning rays press at the window before slipping through the cracks in the sill.  They trickle into his mug, illuminating the dark powdered clumps.  Apparently he didn’t stir enough.   With a sigh, he pushes back the chair and swipes the instant off the counter.

He’s in the middle of screwing back the cap when something catches his eye.  Across the way, Edd’s mother is scrambling through her purse.  She’s crying, tears flowing freely down her face.  She’s just about managed to open the car door—missed several times, trying to insert the key—when Edd barrels outside.  Kevin has a moment to snigger.  The black beanie’s still securely attached, but Edd’s clearly just darted from bed.  His sleep shirt’s all rumpled and rucked to the side and the drawstring on his pants—it’s clearly a set, one giant mess of plaid—hangs loose.

He cries out to her, but Kevin can’t make out what he’s saying.  He’s frantic, eyes earnest and pleading.  His mother shakes her head sadly, stumbling through her tears as she hops into the car and takes off down the road.  Edd’s left in the dust, fist curled at his side.  He ducks his head, beanie shadowing his face and Kevin thinks he can see his shoulders shake.  It’s enough to push something inside him, but just before Kevin can make it to the door, Edd’s head snaps up.  He looks hard down the road and then turns on his heel.  He stops at the garbage bin, chucking something inside before quietly stepping into the house.

Behind him, the kettle whistles, but Kevin lets it go.  It continues, growingly increasingly louder until the pitch is a knife jabbing repeatedly into his brain.  He moves to it, numb.  The burner’s clicked off and coffee’s made again.  It swirls inside his mug in an endless loop.

 

**Day 1 (Time: 1600)**

Kevin’s awake when the mail arrives.  In fact, he’s lounging by the mailbox when the guy pulls up.  He’s a little startled, or at least it looks like it.  It’s hard to tell when he’s sweating up a storm, red abrasions peeking out from behind his collar. 

“Hey man,” Kevin asks, gingerly taking his mail from clammy fingers, “You okay?”  He nods, quickly distributing the rest of the mail before climbing back in and speeding away.

Kevin takes one look at the advertisements in his hand and decides that today's a good day for a little bonfire.

He’s almost got the pit ready—in the front yard, for a show—when Jimmy wanders past.  He smiles and waves and Kevin obliges, grinning devilishly as pieces of _Better Homes and Gardens_ meets Target’s shredded summer line.

It takes a little over an hour but the blaze is really going.  Nazz had stepped out in the middle and gone to bring back some marshmallows.

“Isn’t it a little too hot for this?” she asks, squishing the marshmallow between her chocolate pieces.

Kevin swipes it. “You don’t want it?  Fine by me.”  He pops it into his mouth, smiling wide so the sugar pops through his teeth.

“Hey!  That was mine!”

He sticks two fingers in his mouth and offers them up.

Nazz laughs, shoving at his shoulder, “Ughh.”  She readies another one, this time guarding it carefully.  “We should make this a thing—invite everyone.”

Kevin shrugs, “They’d have to bring their own sticks though, can’t go providing for everyone.”  He sits up suddenly, smirking, “Should we charge ‘em?  For old times’ sake?”

She slaps his shoulder.  “Who are you and what have you done with Kevin?”

His mouth’s open to respond, but there’s no witty retort.  It’s lost in the sudden shrieking.  They spin wildly, searching for the source.  It’s the mailbox.  Someone’s crying, screaming bloody murder.

Kevin’s on his feet in an instant, racing towards the sound and leaving Nazz to put out the fire.  He rounds the corner to the mailbox and stops cold.  It’s Jimmy.  He’s screaming his head off, tears rolling in fat lobs down his face.  His fists fly and legs kick, trying desperately to keep Jonny at bay.  And it’s a good thing too, because Jonny’s drooling and stumbling, arms jerking out sporadically as he tries to sink his teeth into Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Jimmy!” someone cries.

It kicks Kevin into gear and he’s launching himself at Jonny.  They roll to the ground.  For a good few seconds Jonny’s disoriented, eyes literally rolling in his sockets, but then he’s up again, this time trying for a piece of Kevin.

“Jonny!” he tries, keeping some distance between his skin and Jonny’s teeth, “Come on, man!  Snap out of it!”

Something in Jonny’s throat gurgles and his neck spasms.

“Jonny?”

The gurgling continues and some for a second, Kevin thinks he’s gotten through, but then Jonny pounces.  It’s like a hurricane, only Kevin’s never been in a hurricane so he’s not quite sure.  They’re tumbling.  The world swirls round them, colors blur, and spittle flies like rain.  He tries his best to avoid it, but a few strings cling to his shirt.  It’s hot and heavy and decidedly not normal.  Kevin panics.  He fights harder, forcing Jonny to the ground.  He arches over him, careful to keep from touching him.  Jonny looks like he’s getting ready to spit when Kevin is suddenly lifted bodily off and dropped to the side.

Jonny hisses, but Ed stares him down.  Jonny crouches, arms out and ready to pounce when Ed lays it on him.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.  It just doesn’t stop.  The bat makes contact with each swing.  It’s a duel of _cracks_ and _hisses_ , back and forth like pendulum.  When he’s done there’s nothing left of the skull but bone fragments and hot splatter.

Everyone’s out now—Eddy, Nazz, Edd, Sarah—just staring.  Only Jimmy’s soft sobs break the silence.

After a moment, Edd steps forward, peering down at the mess with a handkerchief over his mouth.

“It’s engorged,” he murmurs, watching the brain matter deflate when Ed brushes at it with his bat.  He moves to a piece of skull by his feet.  Slowly, carefully, he lowers his foot.  It crumbles instantly.

Kevin’s no doctor, but even he knows that _that_ , that’s not normal.  



End file.
